


100 Drabbles

by Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Elves, Friendship, Hobbits, Humor, Post-Quest, Pre-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley/pseuds/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes  . . . 100 drabbles based on prompts by NirCele.</p>
            </blockquote>





	100 Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> The settings, people and most of the events in these pieces belong to JRR Tolkien, with additional ideas from P Jackson. I do not own them nor do I make any money from these works. They are pure fanfic.

FIRE

Frodo finally looked into their small camp fire. Since Mordor he had hidden his dislike of it from others. Even in the safety of Rivendell he avoided the Hall Of Fire.  
Flames writhed, wrapping about the wood they had collected, flickering gold, orange and red. Devouring even as the eye had tried to devour his mind; it trapped him in memory with the stench of sulphur and skin blistering heat.  
Sam’s strong hand reached across his vision, rolling sausages in his new frying pan. And suddenly the fire was just a fire; a place of good food, warmth and companionship.

END

 

I AM STILL HERE

“You still here, Mr Frodo? Thought you were abed hours ago.”  
“Yes Sam. I am still here,” he replied wistfully, laying down his pen.   
Most of him was here at least. But it felt as though he had left a trail of bits across all Middle earth and the largest part on Mount Doom. What was left felt poorly strung together.   
“I’m getting warm milk for Rosie. She can’t sleep with the baby so close. Would you like some?”  
“Yes please.” He tried a smile. Milk would not help but it would please Sam.   
He took up the quill again.

END

 

HOBBY

“Hamfast Gamgee, you’re off yer noddle!” Bell declaimed roundly.  
“ Tis only a hobby. There’s a contest down The Green Dragon,” her husband replied.  
“Hobbies is for folks with nothin’ better to do with their time.”  
“Mr Bilbo has his writin’.”  
“That’s my point!” Bell retorted.  
“We could always eat the pumpkin after,” Hamfast suggested weakly.  
“Have you ever tasted one of them giant pumpkins? They don’t taste of nothin’. I aint cookin’ with one. Tis a waste of my good piecrust,” Bell declared as she stomped back in the smail.  
Hamfast sighed and went back to planting the peas.

END

 

FIRST WORD

A last gull wheeled about the ships mast before winging back to land and he whispered, “Namaarie.”  
Strange that long ago the first elvish word Bilbo had taught him meant, goodbye.  
He was sick of goodbyes. He had goodbye’d and namaarie’d kings and commoners, elves, dwarves, family and friends. Then he had farewell’d Bag End and all the Shire’s familiar woods and rivers.   
Kissing Sam’s forehead had been the hardest, yet sweetest.   
The Ringbearer inhaled deeply of moist salt air and turned about. No more namaarie. Now was the time for hello.   
He smiled, bowing to the setting sun. “Vedui.”

END

 

RUN and RUN and RUN

Not for the first time Bilbo questioned his decision to join this quest.   
I nice walking party he could enjoy. But ever since he had run out of the door to join these dwarves he had not paused to even blow his nose. They seemed to flee wildly from one disaster to the next.  
And now they were dashing, willy-nilly about a wet moorland; one obviously dotty wizard leading whilst another, even dottier, unsuccessfully tried to draw off their relentless pursuers.  
“Gentlehobbits do not run,” an aunt had once told him. Unless they want to get killed, he thought.  
Run!

END 

 

Gems and Jewels

Gems and jewels aint naught but trouble.   
Mr Bilbo now, ran into all manner of mishap over a fancy stone and dwarf gold.  
It was him told me tales ‘bout elves, high and mighty as they was, killin’ each other over them Silmaril baubles.  
And my Master Frodo? Well, I can’t say as he wanted stuff like that at the start. But even he was wantin’ at the last. It nearly killed him and he aint the same since.  
Just give me good earth so I can grow enough to feed me and mine and you can keep yer baubles.

END

 

Feuds

We been ‘round longer un them. They’s not five minutes out o’ the mud and still wet behind the ears. What they need to be so big for anyway? Orcs is short an’ always has been.   
An’ what’s Saruman want these scrawny pets for? Never trust a wizard I says. They’s not big enough for more ‘an a mouthful and there’ll be even less of ‘em if they run all the way to Isengard.   
Not them though, with their bloomin’ long legs. But I reckon we can still take these stinkin’ Uruk-hai.   
So that Ugluk fella ‘ad better watch out.

END 

 

HARBOUR  
They had not spoken at the end. What more love could they have wrested from words?  
Sam’s hand drifted down, unheeded to the harbour wall. His had not been a wave. The arm had risen at mind’s command but his heart was not willing to condone such a frivolous gesture.  
Broad stone, salt crystal dusted, pitted his palm and he remembered how perfectly Frodo’s three-fingered grasp had fitted his, remembered and held it close because memory was all that remained. Would that memory could erase the flat azure gaze and pale face.   
Above the gulls gave voice to his loss.

END

 

Valinor

Touching shore Elrond staggers. Piercing light scatters the bleakness of his soul and colours cavort and spin as his inward gaze seeks the fount of this fearful, wondrous gift.   
Then the soothing caress of her soul, flooding the aching hollows of his heart draws him to her embrace, to bury a face hot with tears in the perfumed fall of her silver hair. Mind and body find their haven as Celebrian coaxes with warm, remembered touch of heart and soul. Gathering him in as she always has, she knows all, accepts all, loves all.  
And he is whole once more. 

END

 

Celebration

The sweet scent of crushed grass envelopes him as he prances, giggling and sparkling eyed, among the swirl and caper of dancers. Short cropped blades of green poke teasingly between his toes, tickling his instep and cushioning his heels.   
Two gross of feet have stepped and danced, paused and strolled upon this grassy carpet yet it holds life so abundantly that it recoils at once . . . ready to embrace another foot as willing lads and lasses line up toe to toe for the next birthday reel.   
Frodo Baggins, coming of age today, wishes this night would never end.

END

 

Down The River

Childhood trauma has leant impetus to the need to master boats and this flimsy looking craft holds no terror for him.  
He balances easily on grey planking, planed smooth as silk beneath the balls of his feet. And below, he can feel the rush and pulse of Anduin as it seeks escape to the sea. Would that he could do the same. There is no escape for him.  
This elven gift offers a safe and stable platform and Frodo wishes that he could take some of the craft’s calm certainty with him. Too soon he must step into another certainty.

END

 

Beyond The Circles Of The World

Salt-rimed crystals scratch his toes. Once these were stones, gnawed by waves and carried on Ulmo’s broad chest to Valinor’s shore. He scoops a handful; noting its silvered colour is formed of many hues.  
One tiny grain is the deep brown of Shire loam. As he tries to separate it a mischievous breeze sends all dancing from his grasp. Sparkling grains whisper, “Do not stay alone. Join us. Be.”   
Wavelets wash his feet, tugging gently as they trickle back, inviting him to play. He follows a little way as cool water and warm sun to balance his soul at last.

END

 

Earth

Feet shuffle deep into the soft dampness of the border, headless of prospective chiding from Sam. Long summer has warmed the rich loam, sending tendrils of comfort through him. But it is not enough to dispel flesh’s chill, or fill echoing heart.  
He knows now. Were he to plant himself so deeply that he took root like some venerable oak, this land could not nourish him as once it had.   
Something splashes upon his foot and he glances down, surprised to see a tear trembling on dark hair. Stepping back onto the lawn he bends to brush away his footprints.

END

 

Painting

“Your furniture’s back in the rooms it came from, cousin,” Merry announced as he whipped off Frodo’s blindfold.   
“It’s not what it was,” Sam apologised. “What didn’t go to Crick-hollow with you was only fit for burning after Sharkey had finished with it.”  
“You’ve done a wonderful job. All of you.” Frodo’s vision misted as he circled slowly, absorbing every familiar inch of home, and he had to hold back a sob as he noticed Pippin standing in the hallway, having just finished painting dear Bag End’s round green door.  
Would that he could be set to rights so easily.

END

 

A Difficult Road

Razor edges slice at the now tender soles of heavy, aching feet. The rocks are too newly birthed from molten earth to be smoothed by wind or water. Instead, they lay a treacherous carpet, ever willing to twist an ankle or stub a dragging and unwary toe.  
This ground is parched; leaching what body moisture he has left with every plodding step. Powder fine ash puffs up around his toes, rising in still air to sear his already dry throat. Too weary to cough, he can only wheeze his protest at this latest discomfort. Will this be his last path?

END

 

A Simple Delight

Air is warm but soil still clings to the cool dampness of long winter. Refreshing now, it soothes flesh too long acquainted with fire and dust. So long captive on the enemy’s borders this land has hoarded her treasure and now she exhales life from every leaf and streamlet.   
Grass welcomes his step, its spring green ripeness mingled with sharp rosemary and the soft clean sweetness of mint. Is it the lands returning life or his own release from long burden that brings lightness to his step, enticing him to gambol like a spring lamb set free in lowland meadow?

END

 

On The Brink

They say Mr Bilbo is queer and maybe his life could rightly be called that. But he’s done a lot of good, though he don’t boast on it, and folks is too soon to shout, “queer” and too closed mouthed on, “good”, if you ask me.  
Me and Ham raised our youngsters strong but this will fall hard on them all. Still, I’m not too worried about goin’. My pain will soon be done and I know Mr Bilbo will see them through theirs. He’s always been there for us, and there’s nowt queer and much that’s good about that.

END 

 

Breaking the Habit

He had grown used to balancing its dark weight around his neck. Used to its’ warmth against his chest. Used to clutching it safe as he ran. Used to hearing it’s seductive lies in his mind.   
It was gone, yet a maimed hand still strayed to his breast; groping wildly for the weight, the warmth, the whispers.   
But now three fingered hand captured bright crystal threaded on a delicate chain; gift from the new queen. Perhaps some habits should not be broken. For this cool gem sang brightly of love, hope, healing and clear starlight over a far green country. 

END

 

The Nature Of Evil.

People say evil is something done TO you. I suppose that’s right. But the worst kind of evil does something WITH you.  
You can’t leave that kind of evil behind because it changes you, making you feel and do things that scar your soul forever. That makes it easier to forgive others, but not so easy to forgive yourself. Because at some point you became a willing tool of evil.   
Everyone is so kind but they do not know. I am no longer innocent and must leave if I am ever going to reconcile this new Frodo to the old.

END

 

Far-Fetched

Ted Sandyman snorted. “That’s a bit far-fetched.”  
“What do you mean?” asked Gaffer Gamgee.  
“I mean,” crowed Ted, “That it’s been fetched as far from the edge of Bilbo Baggins’ imagination as you can get.”  
“Well, I’ve always found Mr Bilbo to be an honest gentlehobbit. If he says there’s spiders out there as big as you an’ me then I, for one, believe him,” the Gaffer replied stoutly.  
“Must be summat about livin’ on that hill. You’re all touched in the head.” Sandyman stomped off to join his friends at another table, leaving Sam and his dad seething indignantly.

END

 

WIND

Air ripping at hair and clothing, flooding his open mouth. Land and sky a spinning kaleidoscope of light, searing sight to cleansing tears. Hoof beat on packed earth vibrating powerfully through aching thighs.  
Eomer’s arms hug Frodo close against firm muscled body, moulded as one with the horse. A heart thunders beneath him, another behind, evidence of life full and overflowing. A vigour that must find expression in this headlong rush into being.   
There should be terror, but instead Frodo is purged of fear, immersed in the here, the now, this day, life.  
He cries his joy into the wind.

END

 

Pet

“Come on, Pet. Just two mouthfuls. For Mama.”  
The wee lad just curled up on his side, pale lips clenched.  
Primula sighed. “It will make you feel better and stop you being sick,” she coaxed, brushing back her son’s curls.  
“Tastes nasty,” Frodo mumbled into his pillow.  
Primula inhaled the steam deeply. “Not too bad. I’ve added honey. And it can’t be as nasty as being sick,” she pointed out.  
Frodo sniffled, fixing her with brimming blue eyes. Uncurling slowly he warily accepted the cup.   
He was never going to eat apples again. At least . . . not twenty at a time.

END

 

My Weapon's Name

Frodo squinted at the finely engraved blade in his hands, trying to make out the inscription by flickering firelight.   
“It is a very ancient knife,” murmured Legolas as he settled at the Ringbearer’s side.   
“Bilbo found it in a troll hole. Can you read it? This light is too dim for my eyes.”  
Legolas leaned in, finger tracing the flowing ribbon of Sindarin letters. “Maegnas aen estar nin dagnir in yngylim. Roughly translated, ‘Sting is my name. I am the spider’s bane.’” He smiled. “I hope it serves you well.”  
Frodo grimaced. “I’d rather not need its service at all.”

END

 

Fell Creatures

“What’s a fell creature and where’s it fell from?” That’s what I used to ask before we started on this journey.  
Well, I know now and I’d rather not. Seems they’ve all fell out with us.  
Troll nearly felled Mr Frodo in Moria and that there Balrog felled poor Mr Gandalf on the bridge. Stinker Gollum fell on us off a cliff and now there’s these Nazgul. They fell on us from out the sky.  
The sooner we can say that ring fell down the Cracks Of Doom the better. And if Stinker’s felled with it I won’t be sorry.  
END

 

Retaliation

Legolas pushed past him with a sigh. “Can you not run?” he murmured at the shorter dwarf.   
Gimli bristled, picking up his pace. “My folk marched fast enough outside Erebor.”  
“Yet still needed elven help,” the Mirkwood elf called back.  
oOo  
Gimli scowled, burrowing his way through the drifts. Sensing lightly shod feet hurrying atop the snow at his shoulder he couldn’t help himself. His axe haft flew sideways and he was rewarded with the sight of Legolas, princely son of Thranduil, taking an undignified swan dive to land face down in a snowdrift.  
“Can you not run?” he asked mildly.

END

 

A Book

Growing up with books, it wasn’t until she was old enough to visit the homes of playfriends’ that Elanor realised not all smails had them.  
She turned a slow circle in her Da’s study, inhaling that special smell of paper, ink and pipeweed. Then she wrestled the stepstool into place and stretched up for her favourite tome, its red leather cover glowing in the sunlight.  
Da promised that one day she would be able to read it for herself. But for now she lifted it down reverentially and clambered into his lap.  
“When Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced . . . “ 

END 

 

Friends Forever

It was not unpleasant, this floating detachment. Frodo watched camp breaking; so orderly . . . the way an army should behave he supposed. They told him such was beneath the saviour of Middle earth and had politely guided him aside as they worked.  
It was like a mummers show. Frodo saw the world move on while he watched from the wings.   
A strong arm stole about his shoulders. “Mr Frodo? Come sit with me and your cousins.” The touch grounded him clicking him back into place, like a piece in a puzzle.   
Here, with friends, he could find harbour for a while.

END

 

THREADS

“Come out and let’s look at you.” Bilbo’s amused voice drifted through the curtains.  
Giving a final tug to the brocade waistcoat, Frodo slid out to face his tormentors. He tensed as Buttercup Brownbottle waddled towards him, mouth bristling with pins. Having an aunt fiddling about with the coverings of his anatomy was one thing, but Frodo would never get used to the attentions of a professional seamstress.  
Her podgy but deft fingers plucked at the waistcoat, tucking a pin here, unpicking a seam there and Frodo set himself to endure her attentions.  
Why did clothes maketh the gentlehobbit anyway?

END

 

Plants

Sam tensed as chubby fingers eased hair-fine roots from the pot, wincing as a plantlet plopped on to the lawn, several inches from carefully grubbed hole in the border.  
Restraining the urge to rescue, he waited as rosebud lips formed a startled O and his firstborn gathered the marigold in gentle palms, bestowing a sloppy kiss on the leaves before setting it safely in moist loam. Her grubby fingertips tucked soil snugly about the stem.  
Smiling, Sam leaned back proudly to watch. Little Elanor may have a hint of elven in her looks but she was Gamgee through and through.

END

 

The Flag of Surrender 

Frodo folded his arms, glowering from beneath his fringe. “Absolutely not.”  
One eyebrow climbed Elrond’s forehead as he set a tray upon the bed. “We have tried gentler methods. They have proved ineffective.”  
Blue eyes surveyed the large bulb and tubing, the bowl of liquid, and undignified childhood memories surfaced. Frodo crossed his ankles.  
Elrond’s voice was calm. “Are you not looking forward to the feast tomorrow?”  
“Well . . . yes.”   
“Even a hobbit body will hold only a certain amount of food before exploding.”  
Frodo sighed resignedly and Elrond nodded.  
“Aragorn . . . his legs please.”

END

 

SUNRISE

One final cruel twist and nightmare cast him upon the beach of morning, shaking and slick with icy perspiration.  
Honeysuckled air teased open curtains, conjoining wantonly with warm bread and bacon to cleanse the attar of his dreams, and his racing heart slowed to match the lazy courtship of dust motes dancing in the fingers of sunlight caressing his shoulder.  
From the kitchen merry laughter, underscored by a soft chuckle, bound up the coarser shrieks of memory. He would bask a while then he must leave before the pain of their love, his loss, toppled crumbled ruins of his soul.

END

 

WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

He floated, a wisp of down on air as soft as green in springtime. Sunbeams caressed pale cheeks and Ithilien enfolded him in the sweet perfume of leaf and blossom.  
Gone, the cloying grey misty tendrils robbing warmth, the acrid dust clogging his breath. Darkness that had leached all to grey was swept away and strength devouring flame, extinguished.   
Destroyed. He was free of it. But was he whole? Healed?  
Upon-a-time his soul had brimmed, instead there was only a bereft and aching cavity. The Ring was gone. Who, now, was Frodo Baggins . . . once son, cousin, friend . . . Ringbearer?

END

 

SPIES

Sam always felt guilty watching Mr. Frodo like this. But Gandalf had said to keep an eye on him and Sam Gamgee was not one to abandon a promise.   
He glanced up from a particularly delicious pie on Mistress Greenfield’s pastry stall, to find that his master’s dark curls had disappeared into the Loende market crowd. Casting about frantically, Sam spun in alarm when someone tapped his shoulder.   
Frodo hopped back, giggling. “If Gandalf only knew what a terrible spy you made. I think it would be easier if we shopped together. Don’t you?” He smiled companionably, linking Sam’s arm. 

END  
(Loende . . . mid year’s day.)

 

COLD

So cold. Bill shuffled, unable to settle into sleep in this bleak landscape.   
Most of the two-legs lay huddled together in their thick coverings and Bill remembered that feeling of warmth from his mother, long ago. To be a part of a herd was a comfortable thing.   
He shivered as a chill breeze slapped his flank. Then there was a familiar touch and he looked down at Master. He stood with the golden one and between them they threw a cover over Bill’s back. He snorted his thanks, feeling the soothing touch of the eldar bidding him comfortable sleep now. 

END 

LETS PLAY A GAME

Gandalf looked at Frodo worriedly. He had no doubts about Bilbo leaving . . . but Frodo? The lad had lost his parents to a river’s whim. Now he was to lose his uncle. Was he strong enough?  
Merriment across the party field drew Gandalf’s keen eye.   
Frodo was now at the centre of a crowd of hobbits, where he sat atop Sam’s shoulders, exchanging cushion blows with Pippin, perched upon Merry. Supporters shouted with equal voracity for both sets of protagonists and laughed just as loudly when all overbalanced, landing in a giggling heap.  
Gandalf smiled. No need to worry there, then.

END

 

The Image of Perfection

Merry smirked. “Aren’t you both the image of perfection.”  
Frodo chuckled but Sam shuffled newly brushed feet and ran fingers around the inside of his tight linen collar.  
“Yes Merry. The very height of fashion.” Pippin folded his arms and looked the two up and down.  
Sam gave a mournful glance backward.   
“Oh no you don’t.” Frodo grabbed his arm. “They all want to meet Samwise The Brave.”  
Sam growled. “Tell ‘em he’s just been strangled to death by his collar.”  
But Frodo only laughed brightly, tugging his friend into the feasting hall. “Together then, Samwise The Not So Brave.”

END

 

Stealing

Nasty hobbit. “Gollum.” It stole it from us. What does it want with precious anyway?   
Smeagol knows. Yes he does. Hobbit is going to use it to steal dwarf gold. It’s a thief. Heard them say so, we did. Burglar Baggins. But why does the hobbit want gold? Can’t eat it. We know. Yes we do, precious. Broke our teeth it did.  
Nasty stealing hobbit. “Gollum, gollum.” Stole it from us. Offered us riddles it did. But that last wasn’t a riddle. Oh no, precious. Not a riddle. A question.  
Nasty thieving, cheating, burglar hobbit. We hates it, we does. 

END 

Handicapped

“It looks like some crazed sparrow dipped feet in the inkpot and went for a walk.”  
Sam lifted the sheet. “You can’t expect to recover right off, Mr Frodo.”  
Frodo massaged his hand. “Alright. What does it say?”   
“Now Sir, I’m not that good at reading.”   
“You’ll do better if you turn it the right way up.”  
“Where did you get these sparrows? Master Merry could make a killing at the market reading fortunes with ‘em.”  
Frodo grinned at last. “He could make a tidy amount of drinking money. They could be works of a philosopher from the far west.”

END

Inner Beauty.

Gimly opened the pouch to look upon three long glisteningly golden hairs, as beautiful as the lady herself.  
But the dwarf had learned there was more to her than elf magic and fine features. The Lady Galadriel had an inner beauty. For she had understood his deep need to visit the ancient home of his people, the Dwarrowdelf, though it cost Gandalf his life.  
He was learning much of elves on this journey.  
“Gimli! Have a care or we will capsize,” Legolas warned with a soft laugh.  
“Aye, laddie.” Taking up his oar once more Gimli tucked the pouch away.

END

 

Transportation

“What’s that word, Mr Frodo? Never seen that one before.”  
“Trans-port-ation. It’s whatever you use to get from place to place, Sam.”  
“So my feet is trans . . . transpartatin? And Bob Carter’s wagon?”  
“Transportation. Yes.”

“Is Bill transportation?”  
“Yes, Sam.”  
“I’m glad he’s here.”  
“Me too.”

“Those Nazgul are transportation.”  
“Of the worst kind, Sam.”

“Wish I’d been awake for the ride on the eagle, Mr Frodo.”  
“Now there’s transportation.”

“That boat’s transportation too, isn’t it?”  
“I’m afraid so, Sam.”  
“I can’t come with you?”  
“Perhaps one day you’ll follow.”  
“You didn’t say transportation takes folks away as well as to.”

END

 

Lifeline

Dear Sam. What will I do without you? You have been my lifeline throughout the journey and beyond.   
You kept me fed and found me water. You even held me when we had no blankets left. When I lost all hope you lent me yours and at the end you did not let me go.  
Even at home you watched out for me. But now it’s time for me to let you go. Time I let you live for yourself, instead of me.  
Sam, I will never be whole again but you will always be the better half of me. 

END

 

Language Lesson

Frodo looked up at his host. “May I ask a question?”  
“How else would one acquire knowledge?”  
“I was in such darkness. Then I think I heard you calling me but I can’t remember the words.”  
Elrond’s warm voice enfolded him in peace. “Lasto beth nim. Tolo dan na ngalad. Listen to me. Return to the light.”  
“Your language sounds so beautiful. Bilbo taught me a little, many years ago. Do you think someone would be willing to tutor me here?” Frodo swallowed. “I think I need distracting from the journey ahead.”  
“It would be my honour to teach you.” 

END

 

The Lion And The Mouse

“Strange name for a pub,” Sam murmured.  
“It’s all strange here,” replied Frodo.  
“And big.” Merry was just about tall enough to reach the door handle.  
“Well, Berigond said it serves the best beer in Minas Tirith. So let’s try it.” Pip helped Merry push open the battered door.  
The dim interior overwhelmed them with its odour of stale beer, fresh sawdust, pipeweed and many bodies; the sounds of laughter, music and conversation. The familiarity of it all choked them for a moment.  
Then Merry grinned, grabbing Frodo’s arm. “Come on lads. Mine’s a pint.”  
“Then you’re paying,” laughed Frodo.

END 

 

Leaf

He studied the hobbits in Celebrian’s garden below where, once content half a step behind, Sam now led the way. Beneath their merry conversation Frodo’s detachment was clear to Elrond. His wife had been thus upon return from captivity.  
A stray breeze danced with early autumn leaf fall and he disentangled one, pale against his dark hair. Still leaf shaped, the substance had been eaten away, leaving this delicate skeleton. Elrond held it up in salute to the glow of a westering sun.   
“They ready the ship. We will heal him together, Celebrian.”  
Though Sam chattered on Frodo looked up. 

END

 

Tears

My father would say that mortals are not worthy of elven tears; that they are here and gone like chaff upon the wind.  
But I find much to admire in them. For within their transient span they manifest compassion that many of my kind do not accumulate through millennia of existence.   
Like my father, Boromir’s decisions (though not always wise) were born of the need to protect his people. Yet at the end Boromir spent his valiant heart to save innocents not even of his race.   
Mighty Thranduil would not understand this sacrifice. So I shed my tears for both.

END

 

Counting Up

“Pippin, why does my pile of cobnuts look smaller than yours?” asked Merry.  
Pippin weilded his most innocent, auntie melting expression. “It’s just the way they’re arranged.”  
Merry frowned. “Then count yours,” he demanded.  
“Alright. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Same as yours. I’ll show you.”  
Pippin reached across to point. “One, two, four, five, seven, eight. There.”  
Sam opened his mouth but only managed, “Ooof!” when Frodo dug him sharply in the ribs.  
That’s when Legolas cried, “Crebain from Dunland!”  
Scattering their bounty, they all dived for cover under an overhanging rock as Merry growled, “Nuts!”

END

 

Betrayal

Esmeralda Brandybuck pursed her lips and eyed the line of fidgeting tweens.  
“I don’t mind anyone taking food, although it would be polite to ask. But to eat the entire mushroom flan? That I cannot condone.”  
The lads shuffled hairy feet, seeming to find the floor very interesting of a sudden, so Esmeralda continued. “I’m hoping you all had a piece because I’m certain one tummy could not contain it all.”  
Frodo could only swallow in silent agreement as he felt his stomach begin to churn. Then, in an embarrassing rush, it betrayed him completely.  
“Frodo. I should have known.”

END

 

Anatomy

Elrond, long considered that he understood all there was to know about anatomy but never had he dealt with a pregnant male hobbit. Not for the first time he cursed fanfic writers.  
Considering the large, round tummy fringed with stretch marks Elrond blinked at the unusual site of male accoutrements hanging below. How was this birth supposed to occur?  
Looping a long bandage beneath Frodo’s equipment Elrond handed the ends to his now furiously blushing charge with the instruction to pull . . . gently.  
To Frodo’s chagrin Elrond’s eyes widened as he bent to examine more closely.   
“Oh. They think of everything.” 

END

 

Dreams and Fantasies

What do men know of entrapment? They leap upon their horses and take sword to their foes.   
We women have no swords to wield against cunning and lies. I know Grima well enough. He dreams of a crown one day, with me as his doting queen.   
Even my brother is too concerned with battle to see my plight and I will not speak. Eomer believes he is all that stands between our people and the enemy.   
But the enemy is within our walls already. So I feed pap to my ensorcelled uncle and hide a keen blade in my boot.

END

 

Fellow Sufferer

Faramir nodded welcome as Eomer sat. For several minutes they stared in silence at the physic garden, then both spoke at once.  
“I’m sorry for . . .”  
“My condolences . . .”  
There was an embarrassed silence.  
“Your uncle died an honourable death.”  
“And I am sure your father loved his people very much.”  
“In his way,” replied the new Steward. “How fares your sister?”  
“Aragorn has tended her physical hurts. Whether she will awaken to hope or despair I cannot say.”  
Faramir sighed. “How many more must die for love and honour before the end?”  
“As many as are needful,” King Eomer promised firmly.

END

 

Learning

Bilbo says that we learn until the day we die but I’ve learned more already than I would wish.  
I’ve learned that to ignore evil is to encourage it to thrive. I’ve learned that battles are fought with the heart as much as the sword; that deeds rather than appearance show the true nature of a soul.   
I’ve learned that friendship is one of life’s greatest gifts. I’ve learned that we are often stronger than we know but sometimes not as strong as we would wish.  
I’ve learned that death is sometimes easier than living and that adventures never end.

END

 

Parlay  
My brother died but nine days since and these kings and wizards bandy words with the Mouth of our enemy. Do they think to come to some agreement? Can they negotiate peace with one who seeks only to destroy? Will they decide whether we fight or whether we lay down our arms and make slaughter all the swifter for our foe?  
I know the ending I would choose. I would die sword in hand and join my brother in honour.  
But wait, that foul creature races for the gates. They open.   
Look for my coming brother.   
“Death! Death and honour!” 

END

 

Letters

I found ‘em when I was clearin’ out his desk. Rosie said she didn’t feel right doin’ it so I went through these last things of his today.  
Some of the letters were from Mr Bilbo and they rambled a bit I must say. There was even a couple from the King himself but they were just about the borders.  
The ones that made me cry were from Lord Elrond. I knew he’d been sufferin’ but I didn’t know the half of it, not even after he told me.  
“I hope you’re feeling better where you are now, Mr Frodo.”

END

 

On My Own

Many times in my life have I been alone but rarely on my own.  
When my parents drowned I was lonelier than I thought I could endure but in Brandy Hall no one is ever on their own. When Bilbo left The Shire I thought I would be on my own but then I had Sam.  
Elrond said he would not send me alone. But the burden I carried ensured I was on my own, even within the fellowship.  
Today I must leave them but I am not on my own. Its unpalatable promise of companionship assails me even now.

END

 

Connecting The Dots

Sauron  
Rings  
Power  
Elves  
Hidden  
Dwarves  
Stolen  
Men  
Ensorcelled  
Isildur  
Proud  
River  
Forgotten  
Deagol  
Smeagol  
Greed  
Consumed  
Wizard  
Burglar  
Adventure  
Eagles  
Capture  
Woodland  
Lake  
Door  
Mountain  
Hoard  
Dragon  
Archer  
Lost  
Found  
Riddles  
Pity  
Jewel  
Armies  
Home  
Mad  
Adoption  
Party  
Chased  
Inn  
Ranger  
Hill  
Black  
Knife  
Council  
Fellowship  
Snow  
Mines  
Balrog  
Mourning  
Forest  
Lady  
River  
Disharmony  
Parting  
Funeral  
Horn  
White  
Horsemen  
Fortress  
Bonfires  
Oaths  
Battle  
City  
Trees  
Tower  
Palantir  
Water  
Precious  
Promise  
Guide  
Gate  
Marshes  
Waterfall  
Brother  
Release  
Betrayal  
Spider  
Despair  
Bravery  
Sharing  
Ashes  
Weary  
Carry  
Volcano  
Possession  
Finger  
Fall  
Fire  
Rescue  
Reunited  
Restoration  
Coronation  
Honour  
Home  
Wedding  
Empty  
Boat  
Hope

END

 

Documentation

Saradoc only raised an amused brow at his wife as he ushered in four random hobbits from the hallway. Rory Brandybuck had a penchant for flouting rules when it suited. He needed witnesses. That some of them had not actually witnessed Bilbo sign was irrelevant to the Master.  
Once all seven signatures had been inscribed, in varying degrees of legibility and in red ink, Rory added wax and stamped it firmly with the the family seal.  
“There. Frodo you are now officially Bilbo’s heir.”  
Frodo giggled delightedly as he was swept into his weeping uncle’s enthusiastic embrace.  
“Frodo my lad!” 

END

 

Hatred

Orcs had been torn from the flesh of the eldar millennia ago, so Elrond had always felt pity toward their kind; killing only at need. Then Celebrian had been captured and for a time hatred had seared all else from his mind and spirit.  
His sons still pursued orc despite Elrond trying to instil in them compassion for a creature that could only live up to its inbred twisted nature. It saddened him that they killed as indescriminately as those they hunted.  
For Elrond the healer knew that long hatred withered the soul but love could salve the deepest hurts.

END

 

Wounds

Once Elrohir brought warm water Aragorn began the task of cleansing Frodo and enumerating injuries. Beneath gentle fingers the shoulder wound appeared with the delicate white dots of Elrond’s stitches. Lifting the hair at Frodo’s nape a large round bruise was revealed and on his ribs a long whip wheel. Frodo’s hands, feet and knees were cut to ribbons, his neck galled by the chain and blisters were evidence of Orodruin’s wrath. At present Aragorn could only guess at the cause of the maimed hand.  
But the warrior king knew that internal scars would be the most difficult to cleanse.

END 

 

Failed Attempt

Lobelia surveyed the polished wood panelling, tiled floors and fine chandeliers.  
It was a shame about the carpets and furniture but Otho had managed to purchase some of the better pieces to supplement their own, even managing to secret a few items. The silver teaspoons chinked conspiratorially in Lobelia’s pocket.  
Smiling like a cat with the cream she rolled up her measuring tape. It was long past time that she was mistress of Bag End. Lobelia’s face dropped at a familiar voice.  
“Bless me! What’s going on?”  
Her husband’s expletive was soft but vehement in her ear. “Damn you, Bilbo!”

END

 

Flaunting

There were some unkind folk who said that Rosie Gamgee (Cotton as was) flaunted the many bright and finely embroidered ribbons in her hair. She tossed her head many times to set them fluttering as she danced with her new husband.  
It was clear they had not been purchased in the Shire. Indeed it was known that Sam Gamgee had received a package from over the border just days before the wedding.  
But Frodo Baggins wiped away a tear as he remembered fondly the words sobbed quietly on a distant mountain.   
“Rosie Cotton dancing. She had ribbons in her hair.”

END

 

Sunset

Merry had always been a morning person. Leaning against the old oak he grinned, remembering a much younger self leaping onto Frodo’s bed and eliciting only a groan in response. His cousin had always been more of a second breakfast person.  
When Frodo moved to Bag End little Merry missed him terribly but invitations to visit began to arrive regularly. Many times he had fallen asleep under this tree and been carried inside. But Frodo was gone and Merriadoc would soon have a bairn of his own to jump on the bed.  
Still he murmured to the sunset, “Goodnight cousin.”

END

 

Clouds

Frodo stretched out on his back, well hidden in the long grass. He supposed the folk of Minas Tirith had found little time for niceties like gardening in past months.  
Above, soft white clouds sailed against a bright blue sky. They were not the heavy yellow tinged grey of snow clouds over Caradhras or the thick black roil that had spewed relentlessly from Orodruin to swallow the stars.  
Somehow these clouds reminded him of the Shire and he imagined them dropping soft rain on green fields. There was an innocence to them that Frodo doubted his heart would ever recapture.

END

 

Hierarchy

“All these kings are confusing me,” whispered Sam as they reached the table. “Is Strider the same as that king of Rohan?”  
“ Aragorn is High King and Rohan pays him tribute,” Frodo replied, clambering into his chair.  
“So is the Steward above Eomer too?”  
“No. He’s sort of a deputy mayor.”   
“What about the dwarf kings?”  
Frodo considered. “They pay tribute, I think.”  
Sam digested this then, “And the elves?”  
“They’ve always ruled themselves.” Frodo chuckled. “I can’t see a mortal demanding tribute from the Lady Galadriel.”  
“So how come we don’t have to bow to any of ‘em?”

END

 

Arrow

Frodo chewed on his apple as he studied the slender elven prince. Legolas sat cross legged upon a rock at the other side of the fire, neatly replacing the fletchings on an arrow.  
The hobbit found himself mesmerised by long fingers moving so deftly about their task. Legolas always seemed so self contained and confident. Frodo could not imagine him ever having doubts about anything and he began to wonder how old the elven prince was.  
How many years of living did it take to become so sure of oneself and of life? Much longer than he had, Frodo concluded.

END 

 

Deadline

For what he was sure was the tenth time that morning Merry checked the mountain peaks. They showed no sign of snow, as they had shown none on the previous nine occasions.   
The passes were clear and he knew that the last of those sent out seeking the fate of the Black Riders had returned that morning. The fair faces of Elrond’s sons were grim as they hurried to their father, with not a word for anyone on the way.  
Merry decided it was time to dig out his pack once more. The deadline for their departure had clearly arrived.

END

 

Hidden

There was a shining time when Imladris had been open to all who sought her. But those days were past and she was now a hidden fortress. Enemies knew of Rivendell but they could not discover her doorways.   
For this haven of healing and peace was protected by more than sharp blades and elven bows. Vilya, mightiest of the three elven rings resided here and its power was used to weave a glamour of air along her borders. None discovered Imladris unless Elrond permitted them to do so.   
But should the One be claimed Imladris too would tumble into darkness.

END

 

Any One Of Us

Aragorn laid the last notched orc scimitar at Boromir’s feet and set hands to the prow, pushing the little boat out into the wide river. Gimli and Legolas lent their aid then they watched as the swift current caught it, swinging it towards the falls.  
It could have been any of them. The Ring knew them all by now; their weaknesses and hopes. How to exploit their best traits, turning them to its own dark ends. Perhaps it was only because Boromir’s love was strongest that he had been first to succumb. But he had found light at the end.

END

 

Crossing The Line

Elrond waited patiently on the river bank whilst Mithrandir planted his staff in the swift flowing water.  
“Glorfindel.” Elrond frowned. “No . . . Asfaloth . . . bearing another,”   
“Frodo.” Gandalf’s smile was brief. “And badly hurt.”  
Elrond tilted his head, as though listening. “He still carries the One.”  
“For how much longer?”   
“They follow! Your aid wizard!” the elven lord demanded as he raised his hand. Light glinted blue as a sudden violent wind whipped midnight hair. Water piled in an angry wall behind Gandalf’s staff for a moment before being released at Elrond’s shouted command to roar tumbling and foaming down the valley.

END

 

First In Mind

Ten years ago had anyone considered who to elect mayor of the Shire Samwise Gamgee would not have been the first to come to mind, or second, or indeed third.  
Sam accepted the scissors from Sissy Whitefoot. Wouldn’t Mister Frodo be surprised to see him now? Or perhaps he wouldn’t. Frodo seemed to know a lot more than he was saying before he left.  
Still not one to waste words, he smiled at the assembly and said simply, “I declare this new Mathom House open!”   
A cheer went up as he neatly snipped the green ribbon strung across the entrance.

END

 

I Am Flying!

Bilbo squeezed his eyes closed. The rescue may be welcome but not the method, and feathers made him sneeze. He screamed, clutching a handful of those giant feathers as the eagle banked at a dizzying angle. “I am flying! But I wish I wasn’t!”  
They levelled out for a while and Bilbo opened an eye then, brazening out the vertigo he tried the other and stared in wonder. On the horizon was a broad smudge of forest. Below him was a swath of grassland threaded with rivers and streams, golden beneath the setting sun.   
This wasn’t so bad after all.

END

 

Mixed Feelings

Frodo stared into the friendly flicker of the hearth, sucking slowly on his pipe.  
Sometimes he missed seeing his uncle in the opposite chair; the smell of his own Longbottom Leaf mingled with Bilbo’s’ Old Toby.  
Frodo missed elvish syntax at the tea table; companionable silences after supper. He missed slipping into the moonlight together to meet elves at the Woody End.   
He was happy that Bilbo was out upon the road that he had spoken of so longingly for years. His huge soul had always overflowed the Shire’s small boundaries.  
But Frodo’s own soul felt diminished by his departure.

END

 

Threats

“Share,” demanded Merry.  
“Why?” replied Pippin innocently, polishing the apple on his sleeve.  
“Because we’re cousins and cousins share things.” Merry inched closer.  
“You ate yours earlier. This one’s mine.” Pip clutched the apple, backing away with a grin.  
Merry only followed. “Share or you’ll be sorry.”  
“Will he now?”   
Merry smiled ingenuously. “Hello Frodo. It’s just a little disagreement.”  
“Sam! I need a hand, here.”  
Merry ran but it was only moments later that he decided he didn’t like being suspended upside down in a tree. Especially when Pippin sat before him, smirking as he ate that damned apple.

END

 

Tradition

King Elessar had to lean back to assess the mighty throne of Gondor. “With all those steps I shall be fearful of nosebleeds. There is no room for councillors to stand at my side and at this distance we will all have to shout to each other.”  
Faramir grinned. “Tradition dictated another step with each new king. That’s thirty-four. And I understand that council was not always welcomed.”  
“Indeed.” Elessar paused to consider then determinedly strode away, calling over his shoulder, “Tear it down. I want one step so I can see and be seen, and room for my councillors.”

END 

 

Vanity

Frodo stood inside the doorway and just stared. That his uncle was a gentlehobbit fond of dressing smartly was well known throughout the Shire but he had always assumed that the tales of whole rooms filled with clothes were just that.  
He blinked at the banks of hanging rails across the far wall, the chests of drawers, the overflowing shelves and trunks.  
“They’re not all mine, you know,” came Bilbo’s voice at his ear. “I told them to send me your father’s things. Your mother’s are in those trunks too. I thought you may like to see them again someday.”

END

 

Water  
(for febobe)

Anyone observing his master would think he was admiring the exquisitely cut glass in his hand. Lifted to the light, rainbows flashed off finely polished edges to dance upon the snowy table cloth.  
Their page approached, taking the action as a signal to top up the water. Holding very still, Frodo seemed mesmerised by the flow of clear liquid from ewer to glass and Sam could almost sense the disappointment when, glass filled, the young lad blithely turned away.  
Frodo sipped and serenity washed over his face.  
Sam felt a tear fall as he too remembered the ashes and fire.

END

 

Falling

Sam Gamgee was falling for Rose Cotton. But he decided he wasn’t good enough for her. She was so pretty and he thought himself such a plain hobbit.   
Then, at Mr Bilbo’s party, Frodo had practically thrown him into her arms. That’s when he’d discovered that Rosie Cotton was not averse to plain Sam Gamgee; that she may even be falling for him.  
Now he had to leave with Mr Frodo for who knows how long and she actually said she’d wait. Rose Cotton waiting for him!   
Sam hefted his pack and, smiling, patted the yellow ribbon in his pocket.

END.

 

Fickle

Palladin hung their cloaks on nearby hooks. “Eglantine’s in the parlour with the bairn,” he announced proudly. “Sararadoc and Esmeralda arrived yesterday. “  
Bilbo lead the way and many exhuberant greetings followed but, once seated all eyes gravitated to little Peregrin, gurgling happily on the rug. Merry ellicited wild giggles from his new cousin by the simple expedient of waving a stuffed toy and Frodo’s heart clenched, recalling how they had once played thus. It seemed Merry had discovered a new playmate.  
Then Merry glanced across conspiratorially and Frodo smiled, grasping that the mischievious duo had just become a trio.

END

Filling In The Gaps

Four diminutive cloaked figures sat around a fire near the pavilion of the king.   
Guards had been posted at a discrete distance to ensure none disturbed Frodo of the Nine Fingers and his companions. But they could not help overhearing the conversation.  
Food and ale had been provided and at first the little folk had taken turns relating their journeys, laughing sometimes, filling in the gaps for each other. But now all four sat smoking, staring silently into the flames and lost in their own thoughts.   
It seemed Halfling hero’s felt the sorrow that follows battle as keenly as men.

END

 

Half Way

“Here we are, Mr Frodo. If you want any more, just ask.” Sam set the tray beside Frodo’s desk.  
It was the clatter of the teacup that actually drew Frodo’s attention. “What? Oh. Thank you. I’ll have some later.” With hardly a glance at the tray Frodo dipped his quill and continued to write.  
Sam sighed. “Haven’t you finished yet? You’ve been in here for weeks now.”  
“I’m afraid I’m only half way through.”  
“You need a walk in the garden, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so. You’re lookin’ a bit pale.”  
Frodo only nodded and rubbed his shoulder.

END

 

I know you, but where?

Seeing Elrond at the feast Frodo was accosted by the feeling that they had met before. Yet he had been unconscious whilst Elrond healed him. Frodo felt it again when Elrond spoke to him in the Hall of Fire and all through the council meeting the following day.  
Now Elrond sat opposite as Frodo refastened his shirt.   
“Forgive me, Lord Elrond but I seem to know you as someone of more than short acquaintance.”  
Elrond smiled. “Healing can be accomplished by more than herb and stitch. Our fee’s conversed for a while.”  
“Oh.”   
Elves really were quite enigmatic at times.

END

 

Waybread

“One mouthful is enough to feed a grown man for a whole day,” Legolas had said.  
Pippin swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. He had already eaten four whole packets by then and had been regretting it for the past two hours. It seemed lembas swelled once swallowed and even a hobbit stomach could hold only so much.  
It was almost a relief when he finally leaned over the side of the boat and was very sick, only half aware that Merry was doing the same behind him.  
He did consider it unfair of Strider to laugh, though.

END

 

Murderer

Pippin studied his trembling hands. They were clean now but tomorrow they would be gored with blood.  
He could hear big folk at other campfires, talking, sharpening swords and checking gear. Some were even eating but he wasn’t hungry. He supposed they had been trained for war but he was more used to tormenting his older sisters.  
Before this journey he’d never killed anything. Killing orcs was easier somehow but there would be men from the south tomorrow. Would killing them make him a murderer? And could he ever go back to being a plain hobbit when this was over? 

END

 

Cowardice (movie version)

Merry watched as Pip sat staring blindly at his hands. He noticed they were shaking, like his own, although Merry had stuffed his into his pockets.  
The big folk around them all seemed so calm; no doubt seasoned by many violent encounters. After the battle of the Pelennor Merry had hoped never to raise sword again. At least he had entered that with no concept of what to expect. This time memory painted a too vivid imagining of tomorrow.  
He hoped that he would not prove a coward in the coming fight but tonight all he wanted was his Da.

END

 

Fight On

Boromir dragged in another breath; determinedly ignoring the searing pain it cost him. He had seen enough soldiers wounded thus to know the outcome. No healer could repair so much damage.  
But the hobbits must be protected. They were innocents and he must find atonement for his actions with Frodo. How could he have allowed himself to slip so far from the tenets he lived by?  
Too late he had discovered the tactics of the One. Aragorn had warned but he was too blinded by pride and now he must fight on. Another arrow struck as he saw Merry fall.

END

 

Finally

“Estel, Estel!” But he was gone and none could salve the anguish of her heart.  
Only a flicker of starlight in dark forest marked her passage, where echoes raised their canticle to shining Elbereth. Silver trees rained golden leaves, mourning in naked silence she who once danced, carefree, in their groves.   
Time had come to Lorien and Arwen lay down upon the winter sward enjoining the land to enfold her empty shell until none could find her bones. And so Arwen Undomiel became truly the last evenstar of her people in Middle earth.  
And in the West a tear fell.

END 

 

Metal

Sam paused to examine the trowel in his hand, thumbing soil off the metal as he leaned back on his haunches to survey the new seedlings. They’d have a good crop of lettuce this year if the weather held.   
He clapped dried earth from his hands; good honest muck, as the Gaffer said. Then, remembering how difficult it had been to remove the sticky gore of black orc blood, he shuddered.   
He’d been obliged to handled all kinds of metal tools in recent years but he prefered this one. Swords were only good for destroying but this tool could heal.

END

 

Wayward

Gimli set down his pipe with a sigh and dug in his pocket for a comb, sighing again when he realised that he must have dropped it somewhere in the mines. Beards were a source of pride among dwarves and he vainly tried patting it into some semblance of order.  
He glanced up, sensing clear blue eyes upon him, to discover the elf smiling across the embers of their evening fire. Tying off the last wayward strands of his own shimmering golden hair Legolas leaned across to offer his exquisitely carved comb to Gimli.  
Such a simple act of friendship.

END

 

Fountain

Theoden’s funeral cortege travelled slowly so Frodo had time to admire the play of sunlight upon the dancing waters of the fountain, as they passed the courtyard of the white tree.  
Maimed hand strayed to his breast where Frodo could feel the outline of Queen Arwen’s white jewel beneath his shirt. It seemed to him that the clear stone captured something of the fountain’s essence, just as the water of Lady Galadriel’s glass had captured starlight.  
Even now Arwen’s melody seemed to blend in his mind with the fountain’s song of promises fulfilled, love shared and peace at journeys end.

END

 

From Afar

From afar the mounds raised over the dead could be seen clearly on the Pelennor. Standing atop the city walls Merry could tell which held men and which the ashes of orcs for grass struggled to grow on the remains of orcs.  
From afar it all looked so tidy but walk there and scratch the surface and he knew he would find evidence of the violence done not so long ago. An arrow, a harness buckle, broken swords, a slashed black cloak.  
Merry looked forward to the time when he could view from afar his memories of that dreadful encounter.

END

 

Hot

“Phew! It’s a bit hot in here, Mr Frodo.” Sam unfastened his shirt button and reached for a hanky to mop his brow.  
Frodo looked up from his writing and blinked. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed. Maybe I’ve been sitting still too long.” He rubbed his left arm absently.  
That’s when Sam noticed the pale complexion. He reached for Frodo’s hand, eyes widening as he felt the icy chill there.  
Frodo only smiled apologetically, shaking his head. “It’s nearly October and the wound has never really healed, Sam. Lord Elrond did his best but the cold is still inside me.”

END

 

Hunting

Merry tried not to scowl as he chewed. Pippin was not so politic. “I’m fed up of dried meat. It’s tasteless.”  
Aragorn sighed. “Coney’s do not emerge until dusk and we travel at night and sleep by day. Traps are not practical.”   
Pip gathered a handful of pebbles. “We can hunt as we go.”  
Boromir frowned. “You have no bows.”  
With a grin and a flick of the wrist Pip let fly a stone, hastening after it into the long grass. Merry followed suit. They emerged a few minutes later with a triumphant grin and five dead conies.  
“Supper, anyone?”

END

 

Justice (movie version)

There’s no justice in it and that’s a fact. Mr Frodo’s gone and saved the world and there’s not a soul in the Shire, but for Masters Merry and Pippin, that pays him any mind.  
The highest king in the land, king over all the other kings, bowed to my master. But here they just think he’s a mite touched. Some have even started calling him Mad Baggins, just like they did with Mr Bilbo.  
But then, I don’t think Mr Frodo wants it any other way. “Leave them their innocence”, he just says with that soft smile of his.

END

 

New Race

Sam threw down his pack and dropped heavily to the floor. “Phew. I feel like I’ve been running a race all morning.”  
“My legs ache,” Pippin complained as he rubbed his calves.  
“It’s alright for big folk. We have to take two strides to your one,” Merry pointed out sourly as he began to unload Bill.   
“You had better get started on lunch, Master Gamgee,” called Strider with a chuckle as he started scavenging for firewood. “You have a whole new race to run this afternoon.”  
Frodo groaned as he threw himself onto his back. “I look forward to that.” 

END

 

Oaths

Big folk called them oaths. To Sam that word was linked with great deeds in the ancient tales told by Mr Bilbo, around the fire at Bag End on dark winter evenings. They usually preceded wars and other such unpleasant business. Oaths were too high a thing for the likes of simple hobbits.   
It wasn’t until he sat in Bag End by the fire once more that he realised an oath was just a promise. And the promise of Samwise Gamgee to protect his master had been just as powerful as any oath sworn by elven lord or mighty king.

END 

 

Point of View

“We’re kept safe by the king’s guards about our borders,” Pippin explained again to the sceptical gathering at the Ivy Bush. “All he asks in return is that we send folk to his service if he calls.”  
“ There’s nothin beyond our borders to worry us. We’ve always been safe enough,” Ted Sandyman pronounced firmly. “Seems to me this high and mighty king gets more out of the arrangement than we do.”  
“We’ve been safe because he’s kept us so!” Merry thumped the table.  
Frodo only smiled into his beer. As ever, it all depended on your point of view.

END

 

Rebellion

Theoden King called it rebellion. Or at least Grima named it such on his behalf. Eomer knew well enough that if he returned to the Golden Hall he would be arrested, so he and those loyal to him kept well away from Meduseld.  
A large party of orcs had been spotted by his outriders just after noon so they were turning north and a little west to intercept them before they reached Isengard. This was no rebellion but a war and it was a war Eomer intended to win for his people whether Grima, son of Galmod approved or no.

END 

 

That's all folks


End file.
